


an infinite deal of nothing

by bogglehead, cyber_inkblot



Series: harmonic [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Crack, F/F, F/M, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, In more ways than one, M/M, Multi, Online Friendship, Online Relationship, Other, Radio, Science Fiction, Small Towns, Supernatural Elements, There's A Tag For That, Time Travel, Urban Fantasy, my kind of people up in here, not necessarily in that order, wow that is actually a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogglehead/pseuds/bogglehead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyber_inkblot/pseuds/cyber_inkblot
Summary: In the smoke and dust of stars burping out of existence, a strange little town wandered off and managed to get even stranger.





	an infinite deal of nothing

**Author's Note:**

> The moral of the story is that not only bad things happen when you're egotistical, but also very odd things. Such as an inside joke so long that it became a story with a moral: that not only bad things happen when you're egotistical, but also very odd things.
> 
> To clarify: this began as a joke project for a dear online chat group of mine, though it has since become a story of its own right, complete with an author and writer's block and everything. I never imagined that this ball of crazy featuring my own friends as characters would develop a head, a tail, and a plot in between... but such is the Internet, I suppose. You never know when something sprouts a tail.
> 
> Dedicated to the ones who kicked my butt into gear and got me to actually write this instead of just joking about  
> it. Please don't hurt me.

The thing to understand with Ong Cord Village is that it really shouldn't exist. Nothing about it merits the matter and space-time wiggle room it utilizes.

That name, for one, is ridiculous. "Village" is alright, and the "Ong" bit mames some sense, as the name of their local deity (though Emi of the Kenta shrine may argue otherwise on a bad day). What baffles the sensible mind is "Cord." What is this "Cord" of which the dinky roadside sign welcoming you to town speaks? One could only presume that in an alternate universe, someone is smirking an omniscient smirk, content in their knowledge of this village's true nature.

… but in this universe, the one in which Ong Cord Village manages to exist, there is only one person smirking. Not an omniscient smirk, but a Very Accomplished Smirk, useful in striking fear and awe into bigger, older beings—far bigger and older than the little person with her smirk, brandished like a weapon.

It is commonly believed that gay British schoolgirls generally live in Britain, go to school, and are gay. For this particular girl, the last two parts are absolutely, irrevocably true. She lives at school, and she loves shes. Once, she loved shes so much that she carried out a romance with she herself, had a falling out with she herself, and broke up with she herself—but that is a story for another time. The point here is that the local gay British schoolgirl is very much not in Britain, for she is cooped up in an audio broadcasting room in the dusty, ill-lit corner of Ong Cord Village High School.

With her feet up on the table (not that anyone could see), she lets the last broadcasted song of the evening fade out, then leans in and switches on the mic. Outside, the AIRING sign blinks alight, buzzing and flashing precariously.

"Y'all were just listening to 'Cherry Bomb' by NCT 127 tonight on the Inky Show, requested by…" she checks the list, makes a face, and continues… "Way too many people."

A pause. "It's like y'all are obsessed or something."

A pause. "Anyways,

"Listen.

"I was thinking.

"I literally do not know _anyone_ in this town who is not a snek.

"Snake, snek, whatever.

"The point is:

"There's no trusting anybody out here.

"Including me, your girl, Inky.

"I wouldn't trust me any further than I can throw me.

"And I mean that in the nicest—"

Across the tumbleweed-strewn street which connects the high school to the rest of society, a car radio is cranked to silence. Not in the proper way, which involves actually touching the radio bits, but by straight-up yanking the keys out of the car. The engine sputters to silence, with the whole car sagging in what might be relief. As the door swings open, the setting sun catches the paint job just so, gleaming almost majestically to herald the exit of Ong Cord Village's only landlord.

There stands a dark figure against the dying light. One hand falls from the brim of his hat to the pocket of his long coat, stilling it somewhat in a passing gale. The other hand twirls his keychain with practiced ease. All 255 keys, on a foot-long chain. Metal scrapes on metal clanks against metal, like a sort of demented wind chime. The sound might've been comforting in some brutal forsaken terrain, where it'd be the only sign of life for miles all around… but in local vernacular, it simply means Paul.

"Hello again, Paul!" comes a voice, as cordial as a voice from a dark alley can be.

"Tanya," Paul replies, as curtly as one could with a smile.

In the shade of the alley, a matching smile flicks across Tanya's face. "I managed to get the… ah, updates you mentioned."

"You're a saint," Paul says simply, letting the car door swing shut in the wind. "Lead the way."

So she does, turning swiftly and vanishing to where fading daylight doesn't reach. Seconds later, it's as if no one had been here at all, save for the car parked at the roadside. When the streetlights flicker on at last, the car too is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any idea what's going on here, please let me know... and please explain. I, for one, still have no idea.
> 
> Again, dedicated to the lovely anonymous goofs who've made the Internet awfully homely for a digital construct. To you.
> 
> (Title courtesy of Shakespeare, "The Merchant of Venice")


End file.
